“Come on!” she shouts.
“I’mcoming!”
She curses me under her breath when I don’t pick up the pace, and I chuckle to myself. She’s being dramatic. We never miss Fright Night. Not unless someone’s dying.
It’s the one night a month when Crescent House is open to the other creatures on campus; only an idiot would miss it.
“Hi, Owen,” Elsie calls out to the hulking werewolf guarding the front steps.
He’s leaning against one of the stone gargoyles that sits sentinel at the bottom of the stairs, and he lifts his chin in greeting, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips as his eyes rake over her.
“What’s up, Elsie. Lookin’ good, mamas.”
He leans in for a hug, but Elsie keeps it brief, pulling away as he starts to linger.
Owen looks innocent enough at a glance, tall, muscular, soft eyes, but from what Elsie tells me, he is anything but.
“Thanks.” Elsie smiles sweetly. “You too.”
“Save me a dance, alright?”
Elsie nods, and Owen’s gaze lingers on her full figure, caught somewhere between her heavy chest and wide hips. But the pleasant look on his face fades as his gaze shifts toward me.
“Ashbourne,” he says curtly, averting his eyes.
I stifle a laugh.
“Oh, come on, Owen. I don’t bite.”
He chuckles, only mildly amused.
“I’m pretty sure you do,” he mutters, staring down at the ground in front of him.
“Care to find out?” I tease, dragging a nail along his bicep.
A small shiver runs across his skin, and the taste of his lust blossoms on my tongue as Elsie and I giggle.
“Have a nice night, Owen.”
Elsie winks, and he blushes.
There’s nothing like Fright Night to put you in the mood for love. Or at least something close to it.
Crescent House’s bright white exterior is pristine, and the surrounding grounds are almost eerily silent as we make our way toward the pillared porch.
When you’re in the habit of throwing the most infamous parties on campus, it pays to be unsuspecting. But that’s more difficult than it sounds for a place this large.
Big enough to house ninety fully grown wolves, and if we squeeze, about two hundred and fifty horny university students, Crescent House isn’t exactly inconspicuous. Even with the carefully curated facade, there’s no hiding the flavor in the air.
Lust and brew.
Sweat and seduction.
All of it seeping through the cracks, rolling down the moss-covered steps as we make our way inside, and music pours out in every direction.
The sirens are out for blood tonight.
Their song blares over the cheap speakers at the back of the house, the kind of beat you can feel in your chest as it rewires your heart and bends you to their will. And for better or worse, it’s working.
